Daddy Dearest
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Another from LJ. This one is sooooo close to being good. I mess with canon in a big way here: House and Cuddy have dinner with John and Blythe House.


"Need you."

Cuddy poked her head into the DDx room, where House was meeting with his team.

"I'll be right back," House said. "Foreman, you're in charge while I'm gone. . . _sike!_"

They went into his office.

"What's up?"

"Don't kill me," Cuddy said.

"Never a promising start to a conversation. . ."

"I talked to your mother."

"You're kidding," he said, blanching a bit.

"Afraid not. She called the house this morning looking for you and we. . .chatted."

"How'd she get the number?"

"I have no idea."

He shook his head. "I'm going to kill Wilson!"

"It gets worse . . . Your parents are heading to New York for some sort of retired military officer's conference and we're having dinner with them. . . tonight." She cringed in anticipation of his angry response.

Instead, House crumpled into his chair.

"You're kidding," he said again, although this time it was more like a plea.

"Once again, not kidding."

"But . . . how?"

"I don't know. One minute we're chatting, getting to know each other—she's lovely by the way. The next minute she's asking me what we're doing tonight—I told her that Rachel was staying with my mother and we were having a quiet night in—and then suddenly we have reservations at Chez Phillipe. It all happened so fast—I didn't have a chance to recover."

House put his head in his hands.

"This is bad, Cuddy. This is very bad."

From the DDx room, Foreman craned his neck.

"Uh oh, looks like trouble in paradise," he said.

"Oh my God. House looks horrible," Thirteen said. "I wonder what they're talking about."

"Maybe Cuddy is pregnant," Chase volunteered. The team shot him a look. He shrugged.

Back in his office, House finally looked up from his hands.

"I'm in shock," he said

"Oh, it won't be that bad, right?" Cuddy replied hopefully.

"We'll share a few bottles of wine, talk about the weather. . ."

"My father doesn't drink."

Now it was Cuddy's turn to look shaken.

"Not a drop? As in AA?"

"As in. . . never touches the stuff, never has. Likes to remain mentally acute at all times."

"Oh. How horrifying."

"Exactly."

"But this doesn't mean _we_ can't drink, does it?"

"God no. It'll be the only possible way we can get through tonight."

"House, I'm so sorry. I was so looking forward to it just being the two of us tonight."

"Me too," he said, sighing.

She leaned across the desk, gave him a little kiss.

"No matter what happens at dinner, I promise we'll have fun _after _dinner, okay?"

He tried a small smile, but found that he couldn't even muster that.

"Okay," he said. "I better get back in there before they decide to biopsy the wrong organ again."

He limped back to the conference table.

"Everything okay?" Foreman said.

"Yup," House said.

"Cause it looked a little intense in there," Taub said.

"Cuddy told me I had to fire the shortest member of my team," House said. "I took it hard."

"I'll shut up," Taub said.

"Good idea."

#######

"I guess you both know why I asked you here?"

10-year-old Greg House was sitting between his parents in the guidance counselor's office, trying not to look scared.

His father was wearing his perfectly pressed Colonel's uniform, which Greg knew was meant to inspire both respect and fear. It always did the trick.

"There have been a few problems with Gregory since he began attending school here," said Mrs. Harper. "A few fights, a few outbursts of insubordination, the regrettable incident with the frog . . ."

Greg squirmed. His mother took his hand.

"You kicking him out?" Colonel House grumbled, as if impatient.

"No!" Mrs. Harper said. "We know that Gregory is very bright. Actually, test scores indicate off-the-chart genius-level IQ. But we here at Oceanview Academy feel that Gregory might do better in a less structured environment."

"Less structured?" Blythe House said.

Mrs. Harper pulled some brochures from her desk.

"The Horizon School," she said. "It's for gifted and talented children. It's very exclusive."

Greg craned his neck, looked at the brochures. There were pictures of kids playing the violin, working on some sort of robot project, solving a math equation on a blackboard. The logo had a smiling sun on it.

"It's a place where a child like Gregory could thrive," she explained. "He'd be challenged. They encourage lots of independent study—there's an enormous research library, they do field study, enter national science and math fairs. He'd be with children and teachers who are curious about the world, the same way he is. But most significantly, the rules are less stringent. The notion of authority is a little more fluid at a place like this."

Greg couldn't believe his ears. This school sounded like heaven. Was something good actually going to come out of this horrible meeting?

"Sounds expensive," Blythe said, flipping anxiously through the brochure.

"It is. . . but there are scholarships. I'm sure Gregory could qualify for one. Like I said, he's a once-in-a-generation type intellect."

Blythe looked up nervously at her husband.

"John, what do you think?"

Greg turned to his father hopefully.

Colonel House folded his enormous arms. A few of the medals on his jacket glinted from the light coming through the window.

"I really don't see why we should reward the boy with some fancy school when he can't manage to behave in the school he's currently enrolled in," Colonel House said.

Greg's shoulders slumped. It was officially true: Nothing good ever happened to him. His mother squeezed his hand a little tighter.

"It's not so much a reward," Mrs. Harper said, looking at Greg with some concern. "It's more like a place where your son could flourish."

"Oh please," said Colonel House. "Save that hippie stuff for the other parents. Greg's lucky I haven't shipped him off to military school. And I would have, except his mother won't let me. What this boy needs is _more_ discipline, not less."

"That's not really what this. . ."

"I assure you, you'll have no more problems with him. And since he's got this so-called genius IQ, I should expect straight As, right?"

He stared down imposingly at his son. "Right Gregory?"

"Right," Greg mumbled.

"What did you say, son?"

Greg looked up, straightened his posture, the way his father had instructed him to do so many times. "I said, yes, sir. Straight As."

"Does that conclude our meeting, Mrs. Harper?" The Colonel stood to go.

Mrs. Harper looked a little taken aback.

"I guess so" she said.

"Thank you so very much for your time," Blythe said hastily. "We really appreciate all the interest you've taken in our son,"

With that, she pulled Greg up from the chair and mother and son dutifully followed Colonel House out the door.

Mrs. Harper watched them leave.

"Wow," she said under her breath.

#########

"Stop fiddling with your tie."

Cuddy took one last look at House as they stood in the entranceway of Chez Phillipe.

"You look fine," she said, brushing an errant piece of lint off his jacket. "How do I look?"

"Like a dead woman walking. You just don't know it yet."

"House, please just try to make the best of this."

"I am," he said snippily. He was seriously acting like he was 12.

"You think we're the first to arrive?" Cuddy asked, peering into the restaurant.

"No. It's 6 minutes after 7, which means my father has been at the table, looking at his watch for precisely the last 6 minutes."

House was right. The hostess informed them that Colonel and Mrs. House had arrived 10 minutes ago.

Cuddy had never laid eyes on them before. Her curiosity almost compelled her to run across the restaurant, but she walked slowly, holding House's hand.

As they approached the table, House squeezed Cuddy's hand so tightly, she thought for a second she was going to lose circulation.

And there they were. Actual people, sipping on water, not the mythic creatures that she had built up in her mind.

House's mother was pretty—with elegant features, kind eyes, and a classic sense of style. His father looked exactly like what he was—retired military. A bull of a man, with a grey blunt cut and a broad face. Cuddy scanned their faces for a resemblance to House. He clearly looked more like his mother—blue eyes, high cheek bones. But maybe he had gotten a bit of his grizzled mien from his dad.

"Mom! Dad!" House said. There was an unfamiliar tone to his voice—actual fake sincerity, as opposed to mocking fake sincerity.

They stood—a hug from Mom; a firm handshake from Dad.

"This is Dr. Lisa Cuddy . . . my girlfriend."

"It's so nice to finally meet you," Blythe said, hugging Cuddy warmly. "You're so pretty!"

"Thank you," Cuddy said, smiling at House.

"How do you do," John House said.

They all sat down.

"So. ..they don't have clocks at that hospital?" the Colonel said. It was meant to be a joke, but it came across as an accusation.

"Dad we're 5 minutes late."

"Six," his father countered.

"That's my fault," Cuddy said nervously. "Just needed to freshen up a bit after a long day. You know how it is with us girls! Ha!"

Blythe smiled charitably.

"So how long have you two been dating?" she asked.

"About a year now," Cuddy said.

"Really? That long?"

"Greg never tells us anything," the Colonel grumbled.

"I told you about Cuddy," House said. He already looked like he wanted to escape.

"Who?"

"Cuddy. . .uh, Lisa."

"We call each other by our last names," Cuddy explained. "It's a thing. . . At the hospital."

"Strange," the Colonel said.

"My mother doesn't like it either," Cuddy said, with a laugh. The Colonel frowned. Cuddy was used to winning people over—donors, boardmembers. But John House seemed completely immune to her charms.

"So you're actually Greg's boss, right?" Blythe said.

"Yes," Cuddy said brightly. She put her hand protectively over House's.

"How's that working out?" the Colonel said.

"It can be a challenge at times, but we're coping," Cuddy said.

"I've never heard of a man dating his boss before," the Colonel said.

"It's more common than you think," she replied.

"It just seems so funny to me, because Greg's always had such a problem with authority. And now here he is, dating the boss."

"Ironic," Cuddy muttered.

"Does he actually obey you at work?"

"Sometimes," she said, trying to smile. "There's a give and take."

"And at home?"

"There's a give and take there, too."

_Jesus, was House ever going to speak again?_

At that exact moment, the waiter came over and took their drink orders. Cuddy had never been so happy to see someone in her life.

"I'll have a Grey Goose martini. Very dry. Make it a double."

#######

House was sprawled out on the couch in his buddy Artie's house, drinking beer from a large cup that he called the Victory Chalice, and smoking a cigarette. He was still wearing his baggy lacrosse shorts, but he had changed into a pair of unlaced leather hiking boots.

They had won the lacrosse game, 7 to 3. House had scored a 2 goals and had three assists.

The party was beginning to pick up upstairs, but most of the team were still lying around the shag-carpeted, wood-paneled den, listening to Pink Floyd. The TV was on the Tonight Show. Johnny's guest was Charo, that crazy lady with the big boobs. But nobody was really watching.

"House, solve a bet," Artie said. "Who's a better guitarist: Jimmy Paige or Pete Townsend?"

"Jimi Hendrix," House said.

Artie looked at him for a second, then nodded.

"Hey asshole, it's Jimi Hendrix," he yelled at Carl, a midfielder.

"Huh," Carl said, with a stoner's slow thoughtfulness.

A few girls came downstairs—a cheerleader and two of her friends. This is how the guys on the team liked it. They stayed put, the girls came to them.

The prettiest of the three—a girl with long blonde hair and a flowy skirt, approached House.

"Good game," she said to him.

"Thanks," he said, not bothering to look up.

"You're Greg , right?" she said.

"Right," he said, blowing a smoke ring.

"I'm Sylvie."

"Hi."

She gave him a sneaky smile.

"How come you're acting like you don't know me when I always see you staring at me in History?" Sylvie asked.

"Staring at you?" he asked. "Have you always displayed symptoms of narcissistic paranoia? Do you also think the people on the radio are talking to you directly?"

She smiled again, not at all fazed.

"I stare at you sometimes, too," she said.

Now he looked up at her.

"And what do you see?"

"That you're cute," she laughed. "Obviously." She flopped on the couch next to him. A lesser man would've moved his legs, but House just put his on her lap.

His friends took notice, smirked at each other. That dog.

"Obviously," he said, and grinned.

"And you're a lot smarter than these other mouth-breathers on the team," she said.

He squinted at her. "What makes you say that?"

"I mean, you can pretend to be all cool jock guy. But I see the way the teachers act around you Greg . . .they practically worship you. It's like, you can get away with stuff no one else at this school can."

"I'm sure you can get away with plenty of stuff too," House said admiringly. "At least from the male teachers. And Mrs. Osbourne the gym teacher, if you know what I mean."

"Is this your way of saying I'm pretty?"

"You know you're pretty," he said.

"I want to hear it from you," she said.

He put his cigarette into an ashtray. "You're pretty," he said, leaning in.

"So are you," she said back. They kissed—and began adjusting their positions on the couch to facilitate more of a makeout session.

There were catcalls from the guys on the team.

"Wanna find a room where we can be alone?" House asked.

Sylvie looked into his baby blues. She couldn't believe she was kissing Greg House. She'd actually been crushing on him all semester.

"Maybe," she whispered, kissing him again.

Just then Jay, a defenseman on the team, came barreling down the stairs.

"House, you gotta get upstairs NOW!" he said.

"I'm kinda busy," House said, kissing Sylvie, trying to drive her crazy with his tongue.

"It's your dad. He's at the front door, with a cop!"

House's jaw dropped. He bolted off the couch and took the stairs, two at a time, upstairs. Everyone stared at him in shock as he ran to the front door.

His father, dressed in his uniform, was standing next to a cop.

_What the fuck?_

"Are you Gregory House?" the cop said.

"Yeah. Dad, what's this all about? Is Mom okay?"

"Is that your car?" The cop gestured to the red Ford pickup in the driveway.

_Shit. Shit, shit, shit. _

"Umm, yeah," House said. "I mean no. I mean, I borrowed it."

"Who'd you borrow it from, son?"  
"My dad," House said. He looked at his father incredulously.

"He says you stole it."

"Dad! Mom always lets me use it!"

"That's when I'm overseas, Greg . When I'm home, you need to ask permission."

"Okay, I'll ask next time. I'm sorry. I was just giving a ride to a bunch of guys on the team."

"I think a night in prison might make you real clear on who's car this actually is."

"Dad! I'm sorry!"

"Colonel, are you sure?" the cop said. "It seems like a pretty innocent mistake."

"You don't know my son, officer. He doesn't make innocent mistakes. Arrest him."

Sylvie had come upstairs and was watching the whole scene play itself out. She had a look of complete dismay on her face.

House saw her, felt his face go crimson.

The cop gave House an apologetic look.

"I'm sorry son. The Colonel says I gotta take you in. Put your hands behind your back."

House could hardly hear him. He mutely obeyed and the cop slapped handcuffs on him. They hurt. The entire party had now stopped. Someone had turned off the music, and everyone was just watching in shock as their star attacker was being arrested—by his own father, no less.

They watched as the cop led him to the squad car, actually pushed on his head, like they did in the movies. House didn't look back at any of them. Just looked at his feet, felt the tears stinging his eyes that he refused to let fall. He'd never give his father the satisfaction of seeing him cry.

########

Throughout dinner, Cuddy had the vague sense that she was sitting next to a superhero who had been stripped of his powers.

If nothing else, House was always so supremely confident in his own intellect, his ability to win any verbal argument. But Cuddy watched as Colonel House made the kind of comments—rude, artless, ill-informed—that House usually feasted on. And House just took it.

For the first time since that very first night of their relationship, Cuddy felt this need to lend him some of her strength, some of _her_ confidence.

So she squeezed his hand when his father made a snide comment about House's leg ("ironic to have a war wound without the war"), or his motorcycle ("mid-life-crisis crotch rocket"), or his sobriety ("we'll see how long it lasts; self-discipline is something my son knows little about").

And she kept waiting, in vain, for House to snap out of it.

As for House's mom? She played her role as a dutiful retired Colonel's wife to a tee. Occasionally she'd say something like, "Now honey. That's not fair" or "There there. . . it's not Greg's fault." But for the most part, she was useless—a pleasant cypher.

And it occurred to Cuddy that this must've been what House's childhood was like. John House saying abusive things—mostly aimed at his son—and Blythe and House simply taking it. They were like two victims of Stockholm Syndrome.

########

"Hello?"

"Greg, it's Mom."

"Hi Mom."

"We hadn't heard from you in a while so I thought I'd call. How's your leg?"

"It's . . . better," House lied.

"And the limp? Is that better, too?"

"Better? No, Mom. It's not going to get any better. I'm always going to have a limp."

"And the cane?"

"What about it?"

"Will you always need that, too?"

"Yeah, Mom. I'll always need the cane. I have a hole in my leg."

There was a long silence.

"Oh. . . Well. . . put Stacy on. I want to say hello."

"She's, uh, not here."

"Where is she?"

"To tell the truth, she left me about 2 weeks ago."

"Oh, Greg, no! She left you? But why?"

He heard his mother cup the phone with her hand and whisper: "He says Stacy left him."

There was a rustling sound.

"Hold on, Greg.. .Your father wants to talk to you."

"Greg?"

"Hi Dad," House sighed.

"What's this about Stacy leaving you?"

"Yeah Dad, she's gone."

"What'd you do?"

"I didn't _do_ anything. It's just been a rough few months. . .we tried to make it work after my surgery, but we couldn't find our way back to each other."

"Well, find a way."

"It's not that simple."

"God dammit, Greg. That woman is the best thing that ever happened to you."

"I know."

"So do something about it. Be a man for once in your life."

"I tried. Honestly, Dad, we're through."

"This might be your last shot at happiness, Greg. I mean, think about it. Who else is going to want a middle-aged cripple?"

#######

House didn't want dessert, but the Colonel had a sweet tooth, so their hellish evening was being prolonged by chocolate mousse.

"Tell me about Rachel," Blythe said.

Finally, a subject Cuddy could get behind.

"Well, she's 3 years old. She's very bright, very funny," she said proudly. "She likes music and unicorns and pirates."

"Where's the father?" the Colonel asked.

"I adopted her," Cuddy said.

"So you were married before you began dating Greg?"

"No, I. . .I'm a single parent."

"You're raising that little girl on your own?"

"Yes. . . I mean, I have help. My mother, my sister, my friends. And now, believe it or not, House." Cuddy smiled. "It takes a village, as they say."

"So you're one of those feminists, right?" the Colonel said skeptically.

Cuddy looked at him. She sensed there was about to be a face-off.

"I guess you could say that," she said through clenched teeth. She looked over at House. But he had already checked out of the conversation. His mind was a million miles away.

"Don't you think it's a little selfish to raise a child on your own without a father? Especially considering your work schedule."

"John, just leave her alone," Blythe said gently. "I'm sure Lisa is an excellent mother."

"I assure you, my child is the most important thing in my world," Cuddy said, her voice shaking a bit.

"I can't imagine that the Dean of Medicine is a 9 to 5 job," the Colonel said.

"No, but I don't see how that's. . ."

"So how many hours a week do you reckon you work?"

"It depends," Cuddy answered warily. "Some weeks more, some less."

"On average?"

"About . . . 60," Cuddy said, again looking at House. He was kind of slumped in his chair. Having polished off three scotches, he was now sucking on the ice cubes from his water glass.

"Do you really think that you can be a good mother when you work that many hours?"

"I do the best I can," Cuddy said. "It's not perfect, but I'm fortunate to be able to afford a full time nanny."

"That's what's wrong with you feminists," the Colonel said. "Always hiring another woman to raise their children."

"The nanny is not raising Rachel, I am!"

"Could've fooled me. . .And it's the poor child who's going to suffer."

Cuddy felt herself beginning to shake.

House, who looked like he had been holding his breath, let out a strange, sort of strangled sound—half growl, half gasp.

"That's enough!" he shouted, slamming the table hard with his hand. Everyone at the table jumped. "I've had enough of you, old man! You can say whatever you want to me, but you have seriously crossed a line talking to her like that."

The Colonel looked at his son, stunned.

"Oh, so suddenly you think you know what it takes to raise a child? That's a good one. You're nothing but an overgrown child yourself."

"And you're a bully," House spat. "A bully and a sadist and a shell of a man clinging to past glories and social conventions that haven't been relevant since 1950."

Colonel House's mouth dropped open. His son had never spoken to him like this.

"How dare you speak to me like that?"

"It's long overdue."

"Greg," his mother cautioned.

House looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry Mom. But we're leaving."

He got up, gave his mother a kiss, and grabbed Cuddy's hand.

"And don't bother asking for the check," he said, a final assault on his father's masculinity. "I already took care of it."

########

They drove home in a kind of stupefied silence, both processing what had just transpired. House's hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Cuddy looked out the window.

When they got to Cuddy's place, they finally spoke.

"Wow," Cuddy said.

"Yeah," House said.

"Can't say you didn't warn me."

"No, can't say I didn't."

"If you pardon me saying so, your father is an enormous asshole."

"I know," House said.

"I mean, world class."

"I know. . ."

"Thanks for sticking up for me in there," she said, kissing him on the cheek.

"You're welcome."

"And that was a nice move, buying dinner. Very emasculating to him."

"You liked that, huh?"

He smiled. But he still looked physically spent from the evening's events, as though he had just run a marathon in his suit and tie.

"C'mere," she said.

She took off his jacket, loosened his tie, unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt.

He didn't move, just let her go on with her ministrations.

"Sit," she commanded.

He sat on the chair next to the couch. She began to massage his shoulders.

"Just relax, House. It's over."

He exhaled, leaned a bit into her touch.

"Thank you," he sighed.

"What is up with you around him, anyway?" she asked finally. "You're like a pod person or something."

"I don't know. He's . . . my dad. It's like, every time I'm with him, I'm 10 years old again, you know?"

"I do. All too well. But you should take some of your own advice. Remember when my mother got sick? And you told me to find my power?"

"As bad as Arlene is, she's Bambi compared to my father."

"Agreed," she chuckled.

She kissed the back of his neck. "You're a better man than he is, you know that, don't you?"

He stiffened a bit. She stopped massaging his shoulders, moved to the front chair. She looked him in the eyes.

"I don't know about that," he said quietly. "He's a war hero. A decorated officer. Everyone respects him."

"And you're the better man."

House looked down at the floor.

"I wouldn't say that. . ."

"I would," she said, lifting his chin.

He looked at her.

"Thanks," he said. His eyes welled up a little bit. "I guess I needed to hear that. . . And for the record, you're a great mother."

"Thank you. And while we're having this tender moment, I may as well break the news: They're installing hardwood floors at her house this weekend, so my mother is coming to stay with us."

"You're kidding!" House said.

"Yes, I'm kidding. You are so off your game, House. It's like taking candy from a baby right now. I actually feel guilty."

He smiled.

"You're sexy when you're vanquishing me," he said, standing up, wrapping his arms around her.

"House, I'm not in the mood," she said.

He looked hurt. "What?"

"Ohmygod, I'm kidding again! You poor thing. This is too easy."

She gave him a full kiss, led him to the bedroom.

"C'mon tiger. Mama's going to help you get some of your swagger back."


End file.
